Honestly Ok
by illogicallybold
Summary: He was a captain of 2%. Whether it was chess with Spock or drinking with Bones, fencing with Sulu or poker with Scotty, Jim Kirk's maximum amount of time during the week with any of his staff was 2%.


Honestly Ok – Illogically Bold 06.06.2012

They played chess together. Twice a week on the same days, at the same time, for the same duration. There was no spontaneity. Every Monday and Thursday at 2130 hours, in Main Rec Room 5, the crew could find both Captain Kirk and Commander Spock playing chess. This set activity changed only if the ship was in crisis or one or both participants were in sickbay. Their time together outside their profession was regimented strictly, by the infinite scientific curiosity the universe instilled in Spock and the woman who warmed his bed.

On a lonely night, during shore leave five months ago, eight months after the initial chess game, Kirk sat at their usual chess table in the abandoned rec room at 0034 hours. His fingers ran gently over the solid chess pieces, while he calculated the percentage of time allowed to him.

On any given week, Jim knew Spock slept or meditated between 5.23 and 6.01 hours daily. He worked six - 10 hour bridge shifts a week, and six - 6 hour shifts in the science lab. 82% of Spock's time on average was spent sleeping and working. The remaining 18% of Spock's time was spent on relationships, primarily his relationship with Uhura. Given the predictability of their chess games, at a total of 3 hours a week, or 1.78% of Spock's time, Uhura was guaranteed at least 21 hours if not 26, of one-on-one time with the ship's first officer, or 12%-15% of his personal time.

After he calculated this, he pressed on to Bones, and the others. He was a captain of 2%. Whether it was chess with Spock or drinking with Bones, fencing with Sulu or poker with Scotty, Jim Kirk's maximum amount of time during the week with any of his staff was 2%. Somewhere, Jim knew it shouldn't matter, he was the captain and there had to be a distance between himself and his crew, but during the past three years his crew, especially his main bridge crew, had become his family.

Looking back now, as he leans against the hull in Observation Deck 6, watching the streaming lines of light, he swallows the emotion rising, acknowledging maybe he labeled his co-workers and their connections too emotionally. He pondered the bitter reality of his broken childhood causing him to yearn for family in all the wrong places. Family is what you make of it, Grandma Kirk told his four year old self, after asking why his mother never came to visit him. Yeah, family is what and who you make it to be, so long, Jim thought bitterly, as its reciprocated. He couldn't force any of his crew to be the extended family he had so carelessly labeled them as long ago. No, his family were bitter shadows and hallowed out shells of people, individuals he would not care to see and those who had no care for him.

He was alone on this beautifully cold ship as they sailed thorough the icy silence of space. Huffing out a sharp breath, Kirk allowed his frustration to fill his mind, right hand clenched in a tight fist. The resounding smack of tender flesh hitting solid metal echoed through the dark room. Blue eyes stared at the blossoming red across his knuckles, the sharp throbbing pain tracing up from fingers and wrist to shoulder. Pulling his fist back one more time, Kirk threw another punch at the unyielding haul venting his frustration and anger because of his own carelessness. The sound of flesh and metal was louder this time, and Jim knew he heard a slight crack, but his thoughts were focused on the streak of red decorating the shiny silver of the Enterprise. It was small, barely even a smear, but still it's existence reverberated with Jim. He was alive; his presence did matter in some infinitesimal way.

Relaxing his fist, the young captain took a deep breath staring past the blood to the passing stars one last time. He would need to stop by sickbay to get his hand fixed. However as he walked to the exit, wiggling each finger slowly, he decided against it. There was first aid kit in his room, and he knew how to brace and wrap his hand.

He was a captain of 2% after all and he would be exceeding his limit should be go see Bones.

The Observation Deck door opened and closed with a soft hiss. Only a small smear of drying blood on a darkening window gave a hint of the bitter emotions running though the captain's mind.


End file.
